


No Country for the Mortal Man

by Dogma



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Canon-Typical Violence, Connor Deserves Happiness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Existential Crisis, Family, Father-Son Relationship, Friendship, Future Fic, Gen, Hank Anderson is Bad at Feelings, Mortality, Old Age, Post-Canon, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-07-10 03:16:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15940673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dogma/pseuds/Dogma
Summary: The immortal man walked him around in a worn, old wheel chair.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello,  
> My first fic, set in the future. Critique and feedback is welcome.  
> Warnings:  
> I won’t spoil the story, but it’s not happy and has descriptions of violence toward animals and detailed depiction of ageing and the side effects of mortality.

 

 **Chapter One**  
_None So Much_

 

\---

 

Golden pillars of light casted down through the overhead skylights. Dust speckles floated through the cascading light, blinking in and out of existence.

The sound of children misbehaving was almost lost between a slue of advertisement and benign chatter.

The day had long since awoken and so the plaza was alive with people and Androids alike. They browsed at their own pleasure. Everything seemed peaceful.

“It forecast rain for tomorrow, I thought it best that we came out today.”  
A wheelchair was pushed smoothly over the marble tiling. They'd entered through the main entrance and were met with artistic sculptures that garnished the centre of the shopping mall.

A young looking man pushed a wheelchair and looked about in a cheerful but carefully measured movement. He pushed forward and they strolled toward an art shop store, peering in at the front canvas on display.

“Another of Markus’ paintings made the front of the shop. He must be proud,” Connor told Hank.

“It's nice,” Hank responded from his place in the wheelchair but he sounded as if he hadn't much to say about the piece. He was never one for an artistic eye, let alone containing any artistic talent. Not that it would matter too much. His eyesight had deteriorated as he aged and everything in the world seemed to edge into a feather, blurring in their bulbous colours.  
Connor hummed thoughtfully.

The painting, oil on a large, square canvas board of two hundred and ten by three hundred, was of a man alone in the distance. Backlit by bright light and surrounded by a vignette of messy, almost violent strokes.

Connor analysed the canvas before leaving his mind dare to wonder what the piece was trying to convey. This was something Markus had tried to help the RK800 model with a long time ago, before Connor became too busy and too encumbered with responsibility to socialise with the others anymore.

If he were a human, Jericho would be a distant memory but his species never forget, and the ability to draw up any past moment came naturally for the RK series.

“So where did you want to go?” Hank said tiredly.  
“I thought we could visit the pet shop,” Connor said with a smile, pushing them that way.  
“No, no. Connor we are not getting a dog.”  
“You promised yourself, Lieutenant. If I correctly predicted the plot to the new star wars movie, I could get a dog.”  
“ Was I drunk?” Hank asked grouchely.  
“You were not intoxicated,” Connor hummed and they passed the threshold between the mall and the pet store.

Hank missed the bright sign advertising the “Pat a Pup” day that Connor had pre-planned to bring the elderly man to.  
They were early.

“I really thought this one was going to be different,” Hank said lowly, eyeing the snakes coiling in their terrariums.  
“You thought the thirty-seventh Star Wars movie, which is part of a deviating octalogy series, was going to be different, Lieutenant?”  
“Fuck you,” Hank responded but with no heat, he put back a chew toy on its shelf, “taking advantage of an old man.”  
Connor smiled easily and offered a plastic finger toward a dozy looking parakeet.

When they came to the end of the store where puppies rolled about together in a glass pen, Hank rolled his eyes and huffed in defeat but was mildly confused as Connor brought him over to a corner where two woman sat with a magnificent pair of black labrador retrievers.  
They smiled at Connor and Hank who came within a circle marked out on the floor.  
“Hello ladies,” Connor offered a charming smile. “we came to pat a pup. Is this the petting zone?”  
One of the woman stood and guided her canine ward towards them.  
“I can't believe you brought me to a pet therapy circle,” Hank guffawed as the dog stuck it's midnight head in his lap.

“Only the best for you, Lieutenant.”

“So this is Leslie and that's Karma,” the handler introduce both dogs. Connor kneeled down to pet the dog and curl his fingers around her floppy, velvet ears. In response, the dog panted with a gaping smile letting a pink tongue flop out and wash synthetic hands.  
“I like dogs,” he said, Hank heard the childlike inflection Connor had never seemed to remove when he said something so honestly and he smiled despite himself.  
“Of course you do, you've always been a poodle.” Hank said fondly.  
Connor let the dog bring it's attention back to Hank who brought old and shaky hands against its muzzle. The woman who introduced them smiled kindly and came forward to assist.

Connor only took a split second to run an intensive background check on her, before nodding to himself, stepping back and sitting down just out of the way so his old partner could get some much needed human interaction.

He watched Hank’s glassy and dull eyes squint at the smallest dog, Karma and witnessed veiny hands marred with moles and bruises rest against unblemished black fur. The washed up lieutenant smiled softly as he listened peacefully to Karma’s sad history and how the young bitch ended up with the Pat a Pup crew.

Out of old habit, Connor adjusted his beanie as he leaned against a wall.  
“Is that your dad?”  
Without a pause, Connor nodded.  
“it's real nice to see someone take care of their parent. You don't see many men wheeling around their old dads these days.”  
Connor looked at her warmly in appreciation.  
She was a young and pretty human with grey eyes and tied up black hair. From her flushed cheeks and skittish eye movements from him to the floor, he could tell she found him attractive.

“I'm not so sure he wants me around all the time,” Connor decided to say.  
“Oh nonsense, it's just his pride talking.”  
She asked Connor about himself and he responded politely with the same kind of questions until the conversation lulled and Hank looked tired and dopey.

Connor was about to call it quits when the woman spoke again.  
“that's the only thing about Androids…”  
Connor looked at her for explanation and she shrugged, “like, watching your parents get old. They don't have to deal with that. S’probably why they can do things better than us… no one knows mortality more than man and it's a burden for sure”  
She didn't say these things unkindly, it was the way that she said it with such knowing that sobered Connor.  
He slowly removed his old, black beanie and inspected it within the pinches of his fingers.  
“I felt someone die once….” he almost whispered it. Instantly the handler looked at him. He realised he hadn't asked her name, however, he felt he couldn't truly care about politeness and social etiquette.  
“I died too, twice. And then…”  
He looked at Hank in that moment and saw it was time to move on.

He turned to look fully at the handler, so that she could see the serene blue of his LED. Her smile fell very briefly once she saw it.

“Thank you for your services. I have transferred a donation through wireless banking.”  
“Thank you,” she said with weakness in her voice.

Connor went up to Hank and patted both of the dogs longingly, crouched to Hank’s right as he said softly, “have you had enough?”  
The other handler had backed away with a kind smile and was making her way to a new person who brought a child that was squealing in delight at the sight of the canines.  
“Enough for a lifetime,” Hank said making a face at the noise. Connor stood and wheeled the man away and back to the bustling of the main plaza.  
“let's get some food shopping and then I'll buy us lunch.”  
“Sounds good.”

By the time they had they sat in the open restaurant, and hour had passed. Hank sat opposite Connor who was watching humans come and go like a hawk.  
The old man picked at the fraying edges of his wool sleeves, frowning at the quietness before looking up at Connor’s flickering, canary-yellow LED; the little circle of emotions on the android’s temple. Connor had never ripped his out like the other deviated androids. The RK800 had gone so far as to sit up one night, with tweezers and a toothpick in hand, hunched over the kitchen table as he fixed a loose wire with utmost delicacy. And only because part of the light had dimmed. Though Connor had always strove for perfection.

There was a lot of things Hank had asked Connor in the thirty-two years they’ve known each other, but the reasoning behind the artificial man keeping his Cyberlife LED was one he never had to. Connor was comfortable with who he was and from where he came. It took months after the revolution before he had donned anything other than his original Cyberlife issued clothing, and then years before he never wore them again.

The android usually wore smart nano-tech three-piece suits now, with a smart sea-blue tie. It suited his kind face and gentle molten-chocolate eyes. Though today he was dressed casually, despite the slight iridescence that betrayed the hoodie’s surface, revealing the high tech artificial material it was. Nano tech clothes were the norm, they were soft, perfect and self-cleaning. The cotton and non-synthetic clothing Hank liked were a rarity but somehow Connor managed to find them for him anyway. God knows where from.  
The old man sighed softly.

“What’s eating you?” Hank asked.  
Connor turned his head slowly to set his sensors on the man, he looked momentarily perplexed until he recalled the many uses of this statement. “What's eating you” was another non-literal expression.

Hank thought something was wrong with Connor.

“I am working at optimal performance,” Connor said, hoping it would suffice.  
“So am I,” Hank responded in a deadpan, “You’ve been staring off to the distance for a while now.”  
Connor leaned back as a waitress placed a cup of thirium in front of him and then a bowl of soup and bread was laid carefully in front of Hank who nodded in thanks.  
“I have been thinking a lot about Markus since seeing his painting,” Connor confided as the waitress slunk away, “I wondered what he was doing now, other then painting that is”.  
“Why don’t you go and visit him?” Hank asked feeling guilt, knowing Connor’s answer.  
“No, I don’t need to see them.”  
Because of my old, leather ass, Hank thought dejectedly, staring at his soup. Connor sipped at the thirium purizer, feeling the oral liquid reactivate some of the micro-thirium-cells in his mock veins, he felt more energy seep into his limbs as it coursed through his body.

Hank leaned forward slightly arms, stiffly going to the soup spoon. He hated this, this weakness.  
He saw Connor move to stand and leveled a snarl, “Don’t even think about it.”  
Connor frowned at the whiskery old man, watched him struggle to grasp the spoon and shakily bring it toward his wrinkled and pale mouth.

If Hank would just accept the new treatments and medications, then age would not affect him the way it was. Though Hank seemed to condemn everything of the new world.  
The android watched the man struggle, dripping soup on his legs as he tried to angle the spoon toward his mouth.

When it dropped, Connor stood and took his chair near to Hank, picking the spoon from the ground and placing it aside in a napkin, he took the spoon from his own place and pressed it into the creamy, mushroom mixture. Slowly he blew at it, cooling the spoon to a non-harmful temperature and then drawing it toward Hank without word.  
The man held a tight, closed expression before accepting the spoon, eyes downcast throughout.

They sat in a electric taxi, it smelled clean and of the automatic vanilla scented spray installed into the front.  
“I don’t want to eat out again,” Hank told him.  
Connor’s attention quickly went to the man.  
“How come, Lieutenant?”  
“I feel like a fucking… a- an invalid. With you spoon feeding me like that. Just let me struggle, or better yet don’t…. Just don’t…”  
“You’re well being is my highest concern, Hank,” Connor said seriously with a little force, “I will not allow you to self-deprecate for accepting a little help.”  
“It’s not a little thought is it?” Hank met his fading-grey eyes with Connor’s immortal liquid-brown stare.  
The prototype could not understand what had the man so distressed, he shook his head and voiced this: “How long have we taken care of each other?”  
“Fuck knows,” Hank said breathless and weak.

Connor adjusted the thin blanket more neatly over Hank’s legs, frowning.  
“I don’t understand, you become so hostile when all I am doing is looking after you.”  
“I don’t want to be looked after.”  
“You have no choice, Hank.”

And that was it wasn’t it? The RK800 sobered suddenly, he sat back and looked miserably out the window. Instability warnings briefly flickered within his coding and he shook slightly with fear. Fear for Hank’s mortality and his impending loneliness. Hank sensed it too and the tenseness of his body slackened, white grip on the arm rests of his wheelchair fading back to a pale pinkness.  
“I was thinking about you, getting that dog,” Hank said so softly, “If you want one, that’s okay.”

Connor smiled at Hank gratefully, touched.

“I do really appreciate, everything you do for me.”

“I know you do Lieutenant,” Connor said, though his smile humbled as he looked down, “I think a dog would be unsafe in the house. It could jump up you or cause harm.”

Talk of dogs reminded Hank of his Saint Bernard, Sumo.  
It was something he wished he could forget, that miserable time. He thought that, that day was one that had changed Connor, quieted him forever. Whatever you would call it, the puppy eyed android lost something within himself that day.

He recalled so little of the morning, just that Connor and he had been working on a case together, five years after the day Connor marched from the Cyberlife tower with three thousand androids in his wake.

The case was a simple one, but at that time the line between what constituted as sentient, feeling person were blurring between those of flesh and those of plastic and metal. It was exhaustive with paperwork strewn everywhere in vast piles and they left only when the light was already fading from the sky. When they came home they set about their usual routine. Connor would cook, Hank would dump his keys and stumble into the shower and then they’d sit together as the human ate while discussing the day; the case, the shit Gavin Reed had implied about Connor and then other stuff. .

The Lieutenant had sprained an ankle whilst chasing a suspect which meant Connor was left to walk Sumo alone after dinner.

He really didn't mind. He really loved dogs and none so much as Sumo.

He had bent down, catching the great beast’s head in his hands and exciting the mound of fur, cuddling and speaking in pitched, cooing tones. Sumo had began greying at the muzzle, being eight years old, but the dog was no less excited or able to love any more than it’s big heart had to give.

When they left, it was with a smile and a gentle wave. The rest was left for Connor to recall.

Sumo’s tail bobbed up and down as they prowled up the street looking for squirrels and misplaced tennis balls to prolong the walk. Connor’s thirium pump felt like it was designed for this life giving purpose.

When he rounded the corner he saw a group of people dossing on the sidewalk. He analysed their faces, and crossed to the other side of the road. Sumo’s pace slowed too as if sensing the trouble that came with these people. Their backgrounds had came up with misdemeanors, though, one had been charged with battery.  
Connor decided the high chance of confrontation when he noted offences also fell into the line of android disruption and “property damage”.

He turned smoothly, not having to prompt his canine friend too much. Too bad they’d been spotted.  
The boys trotted over, hoodies up and smiling at each other with smug, gloating expressions.

“What we got ere’ lads, oi?”  
A boy wearing a grey hoodie pushed Connor from behind. The android sent out an alert to the DPD without hesitation as he turned. Sumo growled warily behind him, lurching forward against the lead. He held the dog tightly as he began assessing and running pre-constructions to ascertain how best to approach the situation without antagonizing these delinquents anymore than necessary.  
“Good evening,” Connor said as they circled him.  
The ringleader of the group stood in front of him. Kyle Mansen, Connor was supplied with and a more in depth database coursed through his mind, read in a matter of seconds.  
Kyle blew smoke into his face and watched Connors non-reactive expression with a look of contempt.  
“Not so scary when you’re on your own are ya?” Said Kyle, taking another drag of his cigarette.  
“I am designed for integration with humans, having objectively scary features would lessen my effectiveness as an integrational prototype.”  
Sumo whined by Connor’s legs, dark eyes turning from one person to another.  
The tall boy pushed Connor at his chest again and squared up, feinting a punch and then laughing as his friends chirped encouragements.

Connor calculated the possibility of Sumo bolting home if he let loose his lead, realising the police were a long way of coming to save an android, especially this side of Detroit.  
He began to slacken the leash, nervousness flitting through his systems.  
There was one thing not even a one of the kind, series with high-tech artificial intelligence could not predict and that was the movement of animals. Connor could not rely on any predictions of Sumo running to safety. There was high probability of the dog getting lost or running into traffic.

“I don’t want any trouble,” Connor said calmly, “I’m just going on a walk, allow me to leave.”  
He purposely did not draw attention in his words to Sumo but the hulking beast was too large and odd to not miss.  
Another lad squeaked from the back, the youngest of them, Rowley Tommons.  
“That your master’s dog, you taking it for walkies?” The boy mocked.  
Connor kept tight lipped, he needed to appear both non-threatening and not a victim if this interaction was going to avoid violence.

“Yes,” Connor had chanced at humour, “but the dog is taking me for the walk.”  
They didn’t find it mildly funny but Kyle seemed to look uncertain for a moment, like he couldn’t tell if the Android is trying to taunt them or joke.  
“You taking the piss?” He asked edging forward, nose almost pressed against Connor’s.  
Connor let the leash slip from his hands, seeing this going no-where else.

The android prepared himself. When the boy punched, he easily ducked and threw a measured uppercut. It caught a yelp and Kyle limped sidewood. Connor sent another alert to the DPD, this time announcing that the altercation was now physical.

Someone came from behind, Sumo yelped and slunk away but didn’t stray as the dog slowed and span. Connor stepped back before coiling his fist in preparation, leg out as he brought his assailant over his head and hard onto the ground with a thud. That seemed to slow them all until a shining blade cut through the air and sank into the RK800’s back.

Connor grunted in pain, feeling functionality decline, and let go of the downed boy. As one limped away, the knife wielder came back again. Connor found his arm would not move in certain directions and had to quickly adjust his movements. Before the attacker could come down on him again, he had already ran through simulations to prevent the attack, though the one he did not count on was Sumo’s snarling body rushing forward and latching onto the guys knife arm.  
The human screamed and Connor shouted Sumo’s name in fear, seeing the knife flash from one hand to another. He lunged forward and grabbed at the arm. Someone came over and smacked a blunt object over the back of his head. He saw his vision sizzle in static for a moment before flickering between visibility and fuzz. His hand was clenched in a death grip over the weaponized arm until the owner of it began to scream in pain.  
When his systems returned to normal operational parameters, he had to re-assess and analyse.  
He’d crushed the hand of the boy with the knife. Sumo was snarling viciously between his mouthful of flesh. It had been just five seconds.  
The youth behind him went to bring the metal bar crashing down against the RK800’s skull agian. Connor used his free hand to loose Sumo’s collar and grabbed the bar before it could, he wrenched the metal out and dropped to one knee as he was grabbed from behind, alerts on more loss of system function blared, he realised his exoskeleton had been compromised. Sumo turned on this new person but not too long after… there was a pain wrenched howl which seemed to thin the air, and Connor’s world caved inward.  
The sound of sirens started to ring in the distance. Connor was briefly aware of the thugs all turning foot and bolting down the road. He had a name and face for everyone of them.

Slowly he turned, fearfully, and saw Sumo on three paws, bowing in pain, back legs shaking and giving out in an agonized and fearful whine. His thick red blood was mixing in the dirt with bright neon thirium.  
Horror gripped the android, static ran white and hot within every wire of his body.  
He lurched forward and fell to the ground before crawling to Sumo who whined pitifully.

Connor’s leg was locked in an “L” and would take an hour to repair but he didn’t care, feeling warnings of low thirium levels crashing his vision. He viciously wiped any error, notification and warning from his head’s up display, wrapping arms around the creature and feeling for its wound.  
He felt a jagged cut past the scapula and realised with utter horror that the red liquid drizzling from the dog’s nose and mouth signaled the internal damage to lungs.

Connor couldn’t do anything about that.

He couldn’t even cry, the RK800 was never given that kind of ability. He let out a simulated choked noise, feeling Sumo rest his head against Connors lap, panting with red teeth and blinking too many times.  
Police walked over, torches set on the robot curled over a cold, canine body. Connor’s head was resting against Sumo’s, hand buried deep in his fur.

He looked up at them with no light in his eyes, “you came so late.”

When they returned home that night, two hours after the event, Connor held all hundred and twenty kilograms in his arms, lead still left dangling from neck to floor.  
Blue thirium trailed down borrowed clothes and Connor’s head hung.

Hank had pulled the door open, confused and not understanding as officers came behind and explained everything. Connor laid Sumo silently on his mat in the corner and sat on his knees solemnly.

When Hank closed the door and came over, he collapsed onto his knees next to Connor and surveyed the dog.  
“Oh god, Sumo.”  
He let a shaky hand run through the dog’s ruffled fur and breathed hard.

“I’m so sorry Hank,” Connor said, in a voice that sounded nothing like his own, “I did this.”  
Hank looked slowly at Connor, saw the damage he had sustained and chewed at his lip, grief stricken. He didn’t have the power or energy to comfort Connor, something he regretted now.  
Sumo was always there for Hank, He was loyal, a constant company and the last living memory he had of Cole. He’d always imagined the dog passing away, peaceful in sleep and old age… not what had happened that night.

Hank shifted in his chair, feeling eyes wet at the corner. He looked at Connor now, twenty-seven years after that horrific night, sitting and looking distantly out the window. The tired Lieutenant wondered if Connor was thinking of Sumo too. He didn’t need to ask.  
.  
“I really, like dogs,” Connor said, “but none so much as Sumo.”


	2. Starting where you were

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past comes wielding a silver platter, the future offers harrowing truth and the present is a gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a while. I've been drafting the whole fic up and coping with work.
> 
> Chapter 3 is already finished and I will be releasing some time this week when I re-read it. Just to warn... along with the rest of this fic. There will be graphic descriptions of aspects of life. If you are affected by crime scenes or realities of ageing, this wont be a good fic for you.

 

It seemed that time was just that in likeness to a marching line of ants. Trudging along obediently and mindlessly through whatever came within their path.

 

Connor had started to organise a timeline in his head of when Hank began to predominantly use the wheelchair around the house. He thinks maybe if they'd stayed in work longer the man would have had more to look forward to then shuffling about their shared bungalow in his pink slippers; Connor dutifully trooping behind his every step. Though now all Hank could look forward to is watching Hockey and drooling into his cardigan.   
  


They did have fun didn't they? The days of the past were all good in memory. After all, when Connor found himself with a place to call home and a man to call father, there were many things that occured that Connor considered fun and pleasant. Hank took Connor fishing for the first time. They saw a deer and watched fire lick at the air as embers twirled about before them.

They sat in the back garden too on occasions. Once, when it was hot and Hank had food poisoning they sat outside, staring at the stars while the grizzled man nursed his bulbous gut with rough, callused hands. The old man had ranted and swore all night at Connor for making a small comment in regards to Hank’s health. Somehow through every “fuck" and “cheeky bastard" Hank used between each word in his barely comprehensible sentences…..He still managed to sound fond and good natured. 

 

Connor leaned back into the singular sofa in their living room. The tv flushed the room white and blue as cushioned men chased an ice biscuit about the ring on the screen.

 

The RK800 model looked between Hank and and noted the tired look in the other’s eyes. Before he could ask Hank if he wanted leave for his bed, there was a knock at the door.

 

Connor approached the door slowly, activating thermal scanners and sighing softly at the inhuman lack of heat on the outside and pulled it open a crack, worms writhing in his chassis. 

 

Shock.

 

His wires briefly tingle as he opens the door and is met face to face with odd eyes and a calm, awkward smile. 

 

“Good afternoon, Markus,” he manages to say without too much hesitation. Connor lets the other RK series android in and glances briefly out the door to see if anyone else was about. Thankfully not.

Markus had become somewhat of a celebrity and Connor was sure the last thing they needed were prying eyes and too many questions.

 

Hank was sitting on the couch, legs raised on the foot rest as a game of Hockey plays brightly in front of him. Connor pretended The man's quiet was because he was so invested in the match but the droopy, tired look betrayed too much.

 

Markus paused near the entryway, the light slithered away as Connor closed the front door.

“I must admit, you’re the last person I expected to see, especially so late,” Connor said, taking lead into the kitchen.

 

“I'm sorry, I haven't seen you in a while and… I must admit I'm calling in to ask a favour.”

 

This was it. As if turning his back on their cause so many years ago was not enough of a stab to his thirium regulator.  Markus was going to offer him a silver platter he could not pick from.

 

Connor looked over at Hank, a cautionary habit. Markus seemed to track the others gaze and left a soft silence hang in the air.

 

“I have decided to run for mayor of Detroit,” he told Connor. They met at the eyes again.

“That's fantastic news,” Connor said but it felt hollow and automatic in the air.

“I want to you to help me.”

 

“I'm sorry,” Connor responds almost immediately, “I can't.  It's…”

The pause is writhing and it's hard to grasp any sense of it. It's impossible to string any sentence together. He runs diagnostics fitfully.

 

“Hear me out-” Markus said but Connors attention twisted away from him like a rearing horse and the former watched wide eyed as the RK800 practically bolted out of the kitchen and into the living room area.

 

Markus took the few steps from one room to the next to see Connor on one knee, close to the old man.

 

“What is it Hank?”

Markus watched the miniscule movements of Hanks head before the man asked, “is there someone here? I could hear voices in the kitchen.” 

“Yes,  Markus, he came in not long ago.”

“Markus?” His head lifted slightly.

“That's right. He came to visit us.”

“it's late for a visit,” Hank said lowly, Markus couldn't see his expression but he's sure he can hear the suspicion tinted in the grizzled tone.

While tired and old the elderly man, a once decorated lieutenant, still held a small candle that shone brightly within him. There was wariness left in Hank. Suspicion and a curling realistic thought pattern.

 

Connor doesn't question the spots of worrying confusion that Hank deposited in his sentences. Markus realised that it appeared the prototype was clinging on to what edge of clarity, deduction and perception Hank had left over. 

 

He decides to go join their discussion.

 

“I'm running for mayor of Detroit. I was hoping for Connor’s help.”

 

Hank looks at Marcus for a long time, grey eyes low and glistened with cataracts. 

 

“I said, I can't,” Connor adds but the Jericho leader couldn't tell who it was aimed at.

 

Hank looks at Connor the movement almost too quick for how still he seemed previously.

“Why? You should do it.”

_ Who would look after you?  _ was overturned as an option of response almost immediately but it was the first thing that passed Connor’s mind. Instead he said, “I have no interest in politics.”

 

Hank made a deliberate, choked, huffing sound.

 

“Actually,” Markus said softly, “I was hoping you would resume your role at the DPD… as a detective. I need you there. The first Android Lieutenant? They won't question it and you know members there in high positions as it is. I expect with your return, it would not take long for you to rise the ranks and be someone I can correspond and rely on in the future.”

 

Connor could only stare at Markus with brown eyes full of heartache and frustration. The words “I can't,” were stuck in his throat like a message that wouldn't receive.  

 

“You have a lot of this figured out,” Hank responded for him.

 

“There is a high probability of Markus achieving such a status, especially in his current position with his ongoing  amount of support,” Connor said softly, “it's plausible..”.

 

He cast a glance upward to those watching from above, “but you can do it without me.”   
  


“Connor,” Hank said tiredly, the man's frail hand drew up and to Connor’s. The aforementioned took it quickly, cupping the bony fingers, feeling soft nails and loose skin against thousands of polymorphic-latex clad pressure sensors. 

 

“Please, son, go outside and join the force again. Don't rot in this shit hole with me.”

“I'll never rot,” Connor told him, “and I won't let you.”

The whiskery face grew tight and faux teeth flashed under drooping lips.

 

Connor saw his head still and smile fade.

 

The RK800 stood soberly and rested Hank’s hands on his lap and guided his head back and against the seat.

 

Hank had fallen asleep. 

 

It was late so in a way it could only be expected. Connor turned to to the other RK model. Two eternally perfects faces mirroring a frown at each other. Painted and pressed dimples reflected in the light.

 

Connor wondered what it would be that would come to end either of them or if they'd be immortal and standing testament to the world crumbling around them.

 

He looked then at Hank, as if holding Markus gaze was painful.

 

Connor felt a more pressing objective fall into his sub-routine periphery. He needed to put Hank to bed so the man could rest peacefully.

 

He turned away from Markus, dipping his head apologetically as he positioned himself to Hank’s side and strained his pistons to lifting the man’s full weight, sending his gyroscope through the hell of constant scans, fearful they might fail him in this most delicate task.    
  
He took the frail body to its room and was grateful when Marcus had already slipped in and drew back the thick, soft blankets to await Hank’s placing.    
  
The old Lieutenant was rested down, his mouth drawing open loosely, hand sliding from where it curled weakly against Connor’s arm.   
  
Markus stepped back as the other Android hovered over the human’s sleeping form, making sure his body was covered and warm, checking his limbs were in the best position for a restful and comfortable sleep.    
  
If Markus hadn’t known any better, he would have assumed that Connor had downloaded Human Care programs all those years back when they breached the Cyberlife tower. Those days when Cyberlife was still offended by the revolution and tried to stop access to updates, program softwares and plugins but that was a story for another day…

  
Connor turned to him only when he was finished and creeping through an old door he closed slowly with great care not to allow it to creak lest it disturb a man already far gone from this world.   
  
“The dedication you have to Lieutenant Hank, it’s admirable Connor.”

  
They went to the kitchen and sat at the table. Above, the fluorescent light flickered and a fly whizzed about in the glory of the sickly glow it threw over the room.   
The grey of the RK800’s shadow was still whilst Markus’ was leaning back, relaxed and full of life.    
  
“Hank gave me more than I ever deserved,” Connor said, avoiding eye contact.    
Marcus frowned.

  
“I’m sorry I left you alone for so long. I know you’re close to Hank_” He raised a hand placating at the look of protest snapping across Connor’s features, “-but you need more than one person about. You needed your friends and none of us was there for you, not enough.”   
  


“I turned my back on all of you too, you and everyone. I also have to take some blame.”   
  
Marcus smiled and caught a milk-bottle cap, left on the table in his hands and seemed to study it.   
  


“I think you should think about my proposal.”   
  


“It would be unwise for me to give you any false hope, Marcus, I have no intention of leaving Hank alone. He simply wouldn’t cope and… and I suspect with each day that passes, he only worsens in his condition.”   
  


“Old age? Connor that’s not a condition. He won’t get better.”   
  
Connor felt red flash against his temple. His teeth clacked together in brief frustration, “I know that.”   
  


The concern flooded on the dark face of Marcus seemed to trickle away and he leaned back.    
“He won’t get better,” Connor mouthed and came forward to put his head deep into the palms of his hands. Sensors alerted to light pressure of a hand on his back but he didn’t look up.    
  
“I’m sorry Connor.”   
  
“There is nothing to be sorry for,” sitting up in response, Marcus’ hand retracted, Connor continued, “this is the nature of humans, to be fragile and mortal. It will take over a thousand years before I even begin to degrade, and many more then until a small part of this body might stop working.”   
  
They sat there, caught in white light.    
  
“But I think the day Hank stops being Hank, I don’t know if I will work to optimal standards anymore,” Connor revealed miserably, honestly.  “I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I don’t know what else to think about, other then our time together is becoming shorter and shorter.”   
  
“That’s why you need to be out of this house,” Marcus said, “I’m not saying that for my benefit, regardless of what you do you need to find a bit of escape.”   
  
“I don’t think you grasped what I said about there being little time…”   
  
“I did,” Marcus said evenly, holding Connor’s stare, “but I caught the first part of your sentence too. The more you stew and mull about here waiting for the worst to happen, the worse everything will be for you and Hank. You need time away from each other so that you can appreciate the time you had not as carer and patient… but as friends… as father and son.”   
  
Connor’s distraught face urged more prodding from the Jericho leader, “It doesn’t matter what you do, if not for yourself, do it for Hank at least.”   
  
“I could try but… who would help him about the house, to the lavatory? Or when he wants to sit outside and talk about the best techniques to score a  _ bar down  _ on the ice?”   
  
“Simon offered,” Marcus said with a little hope, “Simon would be honored to help about with Hank. You remember that they got on well? Simon cared for the elderly, he’ll be able to spot things you never would, I think you’ll find it most beneficial.”   
  
When the fly landed, it was on the cold macaroni Hank couldn’t manage to eat that night. Abandoned, on the side when Marcus had knocked so late on the door. The black insect tasted the creamy cheese with its feet, wings twitching in delight. Connor watched its twitchy movements with a thoughtful look on his face, cheeks pinched and eyes bright as he processed options with deep scanning scrutiny.   
  
  
“I suppose… it would not hurt to try.”    
  


After a long night of internal debate, Connor had finally made a certain decision.

 

Simon visited once and then twice that following week to help about the house. Hank seemed in a good mood, happy for Connor and glad for a little change though Connor wouldn't lie to note the minute stress lines curling themselves into the leathery brow of that old man.

 

They sat hand in hand as Connor closed his eyes and wirelessly called the reception of the DPD, delighted when the answer was forthcoming.

 

He got through to Chris, who sounded just as pleased to hear him and there was light chastisement for not calling sooner and gentle questioning on Hanks behalf.

 

When Connor said he would like to return to his old duties it was with a sinking feeling in his mechanical heart that he was throwing himself into a deep and murky pool. Only without the use of swimming protocols.

He was reassured by a gentle pressure against his fingers and responded with a soft response of curling his own against those calming hands.

 

When the call pulled into a confirmation and an agreeable “I'll have you fast tracked, it's no problem… just a bit of paperwork…” Connor found himself thanking some higher power that it was Chris who sat in Fowlers chair now and not the likes of Gavin Reed, who was surely as bitter and miserable about the RK800’s existence as he was gleeful the day Connor turned his back on the DPD when Hank became ill.

 

“Well,” said man grumbled, startling Connor, “How's it gone? Do I have to go down there and tell Fowler he's an idiot and kick sense into his ass?”

Connor smiled sadly looking down with a wince at their hands coiled together over the table and patted Hank’s softly on the top.

 

“Fowler passed away a while ago Hank. We went to the funeral remember? We lay down roses, his favourite flowers.”   
  


Hank looked glassy and confused for a moment before muttering “Oh, well, yes. He was always a romantic...when, when no one were looking…”

 

Connor nodded in agreement, fondly replaying the private thanksgiving party Fowler had thrown in 1939 in his head, closing his eyes briefly to enjoy the experience over again. It was a great day, cold and blue skied.

 

“I'll be returning on probation to my original post and monitored before it is fully reinstated,” he informed Hank after a moment, “he said he would give me a call back later to confirm a date, I expect it will be quite soon with how enthusiastic he sounded.”   
  
“That’s good, I’m really glad.” Hank said, and he meant it.    
  
“Thank you”, Connor said softly, “Do you want a cup of coffee?”   
  
“Hell yes.”

 

The days slipped by into a rocking wave of drifting emotions. Anxiety and uncertainty at the forefront.

Chris had responded within hours of a confirmation and Connor waited exactly every second of sixty minutes before alerting Marcus.

 

Hank was bored and they went for a walk around the streets going halfway to central before turning back and continuing their talk.

 

In the back of his mind Connor was questioning everything.

 

He was trapped in a throw of right and wrong.

 

He questioned if he was doing this for Marcus or for himself and then considered how much he missed the station.

 

When the week abandoned them and the Monday rolled in without warning. Connor stared at his reflection in the mirror. He donned a navy suit and neatly wrapped a tie around his neck but no matter how much he fiddled or turned it looked like a noose around his neck. It was seven in the morning. Chris told him to come in at nine for a briefing but being early felt right. 

 

He followed the skirting out of the bathroom and into the living room and then to the kitchen area where Hank prodded at his breakfast.

 

“I think yer playing  a joke on me,” the old man grumbled at his bowl.

 

“What?” Connor asked and neatly pulled the chair out to sit opposite from him.

 

“This sugar free shit, I didn't even know you could get sugar free cereal.”

 

“Oh dear,” Connor hummed, grabbing the cereal box and pretending to need to read it over again, the perfect vision of a man's faulty memory strung to its limits and needing to recount the details of his breakfast by perusing it's colourful container surface.

 

“it says “less sugar, tastes just as grape!” Is that not so?”

 

“No it ain't so.”

Connor shrugged and watched Hank struggle a sloppy spoonful into his mouth and wince.

 

“I think your being dramatic,” the android smirked hearing a quiet knock on the door, eyes closing so slightly as a message flickered into his vision: “I'm here.”

 

“I think you'd stop buying it if you could taste it,” Hank said, and then seeing Connor’s familiar twitch at a new message, Hank looked as if he wanted to stand, “Another case?”

 

“No Hank,” Connor stood and took toward the front door, “I haven't even started yet, there is no ‘other case’. It's just Simon.” And he left not wanting to see Hank’s glazed over confusion.

 

Connor strung the door open and stepped back invitingly to allow the mellow android in. Simon brought a thin hand to his sandy hair and looked meekly at Connor as they greeted each other.

 

“I meant to come a bit earlier but there was rioting on the Ford Avenue, be careful if you're going that way to work.”

 

“Rioting?” Connor said and caught Simon's arm before he could enter the house further, head tilted and eyes briefly directed to the kitchen where Hank was.

Simon stilled realising and stayed where he was, keeping from entering Hank’s earshot as Connor implied.

Simon shrugged, “there has been a rise in android on human crime, it's upset a lot of people but I'm not sure who and why as no one in any wall of Jericho would dream to..” Simon trailed off unhappily.

The advanced of the two nodded his understanding and fell quiet, processing his next sentence.

 

“He keeps forgetting things…”

 

Grey eyes followed the distant look of the other toward the back of the house where a certain human sat.

 

“like what?”

 

“He forgot Fowler had passed away,” Connor said not realising that Simon hadn't formally met that man, “when I woke him up he thought I…”

Connor frowned uncertainty, “he thought I was someone else, and when he opened his eyes he was upset to see it was me…”

 

“I see,” Simon said awkwardly, “this seems to be a common problem in older humans, the brain begins to deteriorate. It will get worse Connor.”

He had decided to be frank, Connor looked distraught.

 

“We can't fix it?” 

 

“No, humans are not replaceable like us,” Simon said with a low bitterness.

 

“There must be some way…”

 

“I was bought with add-on programming to help these kind of people. There is nothing you can do but be patient and understanding.”

 

Connor frowned and looked like he was about to argue when he remembered he was meant to be somewhere.

 

“Well, you know where everything is. If there is a problem, let me know straight away and I'll be right back. It takes me thirty-two minutes on average So it's imperative you assess whether to call services prior to alerting me.”

 

Simon smiled a pained expression, he put his hand on Connor’s, “we have went through this many times. It will be fine.”

 

“I will go say farewell to Hank now, else he'll scold bad my bad manners.”

 

He did so and Hank seemed a bit upset, like he wanted to go too.

 

Only as Connor left, Simon would see the old man look frustratedly at his decaying hands, wishing under his breath for some escape from his own mortality.

 

Connor walked quarter of a mile at a brisk and unnaturally even pace. He took the bus which had been redirected from it's Ford Avenue route and crossed an overpass where the passengers looked down on the mess below. Police were trying to disperse people and struggling with the effort to do so.

 

Not a surprise, policing and resources had been cut and the android hires of thirty years past while in three-quarters of a good percentage returned a good deal were damaged or for some: past repair that could return them life. It was such a phenomenal death ratio even for such a risky job, that androids seemed to turn away from policing and similar lines of work.

 

Android versus humans, a long running and never ending cycle it seemed.

 

When Connor entered the febrile atmosphere of the bullpen, escorted in by a receptionist and neck brandishing a temporary ID glinting from a navy lanyard, it was with pasty nervousness. If he were human, his mouth would be dry, so he licked his lips to simulate such a feeling instead.

 

Nervous young blues walked by him, some looking up and recognising Lieutenant Connor Anderson, the first android promoted to such a position. They cast curious stares and gossips while Connor waited patiently for Chris to call him in. 

 

It wasn't a long wait.

 

Chris called to him across from the room and Connor strode up the stairs and allowed Chris’ hand to rest on the flat of his back and into the sanctity and quiet from his office.

 

Chris trained a smile on Connor and slid papers to sign over to the other to sign.

His face was ageing the same way Hanks was. Though Chris’ well rounded face was rescued by the years he hadn't yet lived. It made Connor think of the latex androids, the brainless unconvertable ones that stood and posed in shop windows. Their skin beginning to crack, forcing the whole thing to require replacement.

 

He listened to Chris run through the technical and general welcome speech required, taking in specific points and logging them into his long term memory but he couldn't help but allow the contemplation he was pre-constructing continue heavily in the front of his processors.

 

Chris sat in Fowler’s very same chair. The black leather had lost its shine and finance, must sack and feel stiff in the middle… when would he replace it? When the memory of Fowlers death is preceded by his own uncomfortableness or tomorrow when the next load of government funding for internal affairs arrive?

 

When would Chris be replaced? When he gets too old to work? When he chooses to retire or… if he comes to serious harm or injury?

 

Would it be Connor sitting there. Chris sat in the circle of Connor’s closest human friends. The man joked before Connor had left that Connor would take over Fowler… but it was Chris now instead.

 

When would Connor be replaced?

 

“I think that's about everything, I'll introduce you to the team and we can get started. It really is great to see you back. I know you have a lot to deal with at home so if you need to go sooner then that's fine, I know you always cover your hours.” 

 

“Thank you,” Connor responded automatically and followed Chris back out to the bullpen.

 

“Did you watch the game?” Chris asked as they crossed the threshold.

 

“Of course, we wouldn't miss it even if the sky miraculously started to collapse,” Connor said fondly.

 

Chris laughed and chortled on about some of the highlights of the match. Connor wasn't such a fan, he'd actually taken to the country and wildlife channel though Hank found that “boring as hell”. The RK800 liked to just see people happy so he didn't mind at all.

 

Chris clapped his hands loudly as they got to the midsection of the room. It was several desks down from the old places Hank and Connor used to be.

 

“Alright everybody,” Chris said in good temper, several faces turned his way. Connor knew who they were instantly, their names when they were born or made, their records and any of their social media boasted likes and dislikes. He said nothing.

Chris patted him heavily on the back, “you should all know this man by now. This is Lieutenant Connor Anderson. He's back with us after ditching us for six years.”

 

“No single person or android has solved as many crimes and hunted as many peeps as our Connor. I want you all to show some respect and welcome him back on the team.”

 

Chris guided Connor to look toward people with his hand. 

“Of course you know Tina, Person and Wilson-” the three nodded as he addressed them.

  
“We have Detective Karen Wood, Mitchell's and Jacob. There are two more… Lewis and you know Gavin but they're both out.”

 

“I'll let you all get acquainted if you could set Connor at his desk, Tina? Excellent.”

 

Connor turned back to the group.

  
“Fill me in.”

 

* * *

 

 

**Note:**

I know nothing about American policing and it's intricacies so take this with a pinch of salt.

 


	3. The dogs found nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a new case and no time to mess around, not with this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Detailed description of crime scene involving children

  


It didn't come as a surprise to anyone when the backlog of homicides both human and android alike filtered down to the old cold cases. 

  


Unlike before, Connor finished on the dot, only staying late once during an ongoing investigation. It was really nothing but he had the world watching him again. 

  


It only bothered him when the news seemed to make a fuss at every new case and he worried that they'd turn up outside the door.

  


He sat at the Kitchen table, suited up and docile. Hank nursed a coffee in front of him as if he'd had a hang over.

  


“How is everything with Simon progressing?” Connor asked.

  


“Didn’ know anythin’ were s’pose to be progressing,” Hank said and levelled a sip of hot, filtered heaven into his mouth.

He shook his head, “Decaf? Connor why have you ransacked all my cupboards and replaced everything with fucking health trash?”

  


“You've been drinking that coffee for years now, I would have expected you to stop complaining about it at some point.”

  


A deep look of frustration curled itself onto the old man's brow and he glowered at the coffee.

  


“ _ You can't taste how shit it is,”  _ he said with a bite. Connor leaned back in surprise, “_so don't force your ideas on to me who  _ can _ taste it.”

  


The younger of the two set his shoulders back in offence, “don't be so irrational Hank I'm hardly forcing anything. If you want your normal coffee I will buy you some.”

  


“No forget it, I'll buy it myself. Simon will take me.”

  


Connor frowned heavily at Hank’s wording.

“What are you trying to say Hank?”

  


“That your coffee tastes like shit and I don't want to drink it anymore.”

  


“Then don't,” Connor said and snatched the mug from the table strode to the sink and poured it down the drain, then in frustration he took the strainer and threw that in too. 

  


It shattered on contact and Connor felt everything inside him hitch at the sight. 

  


The glass and grounds mixed together in the basin. It stirred a deep whining dog within Connor. The kind that whines loud and forlorn in the empty halls of an abandoned house.

  


They drizzled down the drain, water escaping in a black river leaving a bog of coffee granules and glistening shards behind.

  


He saw in the reflection of the pristene side cabinet a little flicker of red light. His temple LED. He put a hand against it and closed his eyes.

  


“That was immature of me,” he said slowly.

Hank was quiet and when Connor turned around he saw his friend frowning sadly at the table surface. He didn't have to wonder when the last time they argued was. These moments were imprinted in his mind.

  


A coiling snake wrapped itself around his throat and he slumped into the only other chair of the Kitchen. Simon would be arriving any moment and Connor could not decipher if this was a saving grace or a disappointment. It was times like these he cursed sentience. He cursed feelings and thoughts.

  


“I wish I were going with you,” Hank admitted.

  


Connor looked up and he really didn't have anything to say to that.

  


He thought for a long time and said brokenly, “I'm sorry. I'd do anything to trade places with you.”

  


And he would.

  


Connor’s thirium pump stuttered deeply within his chest seeing the man sigh long and warily.

  


“I wouldn't want you to change places with me. Hell, I've had my chance at life and I screwed it up. It's your turn Connor, I'm… I'm proud of you. I want you to do well, for fuck sake.”

  


They smiled softly at each other before Hank sighed and said, “are you gonna clean that mess up or you leaving it to Simon?”

The android gasped and jumped toward the sink hands plunging in at Hank's protest to scoop away the glass.

  


“Make sure you look after my car, heard there been thieving on the news. She's a classic, park her somewhere good.”

  


“I haven't been using the car,” Connor said.

  


“Idiot, what's the point of having a driver's licence if your not going to use it?”

  


“I wouldn't presume to use it without your permission, besides… I'm tired of being stopped at every turn to have my license checked…”

  


Hank grimaced as Connor placed a cup of water in front of him, the RK800 crossed his arms and leaned against the sink cupboards, back against the light of the window.

  


“if you don't do it, then no one will and it won't become “normal” for androids to drive, Connor. When it becomes more normal and expected that an android will drive and have a license ready to show then it will become more awkward for the traffic cops to keep stopping them. Fight against it, be part of the norm.”

  


“That makes a lot of sense Hank, thank you, I'll use the car.”

  


“Traffic police are a bitch, they're the worst, do you remember the time we got that ticket when we stopped for a burrito?”

  


“Oh yes!” Connor replied with renewed excitement.

  


Spare keys scraped the interior of the front door and both men let their smiles fall. Connor cocked his ear toward the door and he let a programmed sigh quake through his body before he stood tall. 

  


“I'll see you tonight, Hank,” he said beffore leaning down to give the man an awkward hug, rising again and greeting Simon halfway in the threshold of the living room.

  


“Good Morning, Simon.”

  


The other android smiled.

  


“Marcus is moving ahead with his plans. He's going to announce his campaign. It's very exciting.”

  


“Excellent to hear,” Connor responded.

  


“Yes well, we thought you'd like to come to head quarters to celebrate with us?”

  


Connor had already began shaking his head before Simon could finish, “I can't, who_”

  


“-you can bring Hank of course,” Simon cut him off, “everyone has missed you.”

  


“Well, okay. Only if it really is no problem for us to come along.”

  


Simon patted him on the arm one rough time, a fond thing that made Connor reel a little.

He didn't realise he missed these kind of interactions.

  


He left and took the old car, it thundered to life and he drove without hassle onwards and to the station.

  


“Oh yippy-do-dah, look who came marching in,” mocked a voice as Connor took toward his desk, Thirumoffee in hand and papers to sign in the other. 

  


The android looked up, eyebrows raised, “Sorry?”

  


“You heard me dip shit,” Gavin growled low and quiet from his desk and continued to type hard and pointed, glowering down at the screen.

  


But Connor heard him. The RK800 was built with impeccable audio receptors.

  


“Oh how I missed our banter,  _ officer Reed.” _

  


Gavin looked up so violently Connor heard his neck crick and pop. He let a lip curl over his gums and now sitting, Connor saw finally, the incredible scar that ran long and dreadful along the visible half of the man's face.

  


Wariness swam in Connor’s gut.

  


The man stood steady and stalked to Connor’s desk. He dumped paperwork down, a large heep with rough hand writing and scribbles. it was another passive aggressive statement… 

Connor could easily learn all this research Gavin had done within a quarter of a second if he had sent it through on the computer but the man insisted on this petty behaviour, meaning Connor would have to scan and survey every piece of Gavin's scribble, decipher it and begin processing everything together.

  


Something that would have taken less than a second, was now going to take him an hour.

  


He pulled a frustrated face at it and then looked at Gavin who mimicked him.

  


Connor had had enough.

  


“I'm not interested in reading through all this paperwork. Use the computer like everyone else.”

  


“I'm an old fashioned guy, I like doing it the old fashioned way. That way I make less mistakes.”

  


“The percentage difference between your written and typed mistakes are the same as each other: awful. For the sake of the mission can you please just type it up from now on?”

  


“Is that an order or a request, snowflake?”

  


Connor could see that one of the other young officers on the homicide team was listening in. He was a lieutenant, if the subordinate officers heard that he would bow down to a bully like Gavin then he would have no standing or respect among them… And he was the most high ranking here after Persons. This was no good, usually Gavin is best ignored. But...

  


“This aggressive behaviour is exactly why you'll never be more than just Detective Reed. It's startling how someone so talented at their job can be such an asshole.”

  


Gavin glowered looking over him.

  


“Did you come back just to spite another promotion, Lieutenant Anderson?” Gavin snarled...

  


“Now you haven't got that half soaked, dead beat_”   
  


Connor’s chair shot across the room and cracked against the wall as he stood.

  


“Didn't like that pussy cat?” Gavin growled and they were nose to nose, eyes bearing into one another.

  


“Children,” Persons said walking over, “can we not argue? We got a bad one come in.”

  


She offered out a little white USB sized piece to Connor who took it, arm peeling white and eyes closing as information rushed into his mind. He winced.

  


“I think we will need everyone not on the Curly Case….” Persons said, staring at Connor who offered the Touch-Chip to Gavin. She pushed some of her short hair out of the way of her face, waiting.

  


“That'll be us two,” Gavin said unhappily.

  


To the man's dismay, Connor turned to Persons and nodded, “I've finished my reports on Mr Curly, the biopsy came in last night, and it had exactly what was needed to bring in Fenfield. So I think it's pretty much wrapped up. That makes three of us,” at Gavin’s moaning rejection, he continued low and darkly “-and I think that's necessary.”

  


Gavin turned and tapped the chip to the computer next to him and windows opened on the screen. Pictures of children's faces from ages just breaching ten years of age between them appeared, Gavin skimmed some text.

“Holy shit,” he said.

  


“The FBI are going to be desperate to jump in on this. We need to get there now,” Persons said anxiously.

  


The three left together, arguments momentarily forgotten.

  


The scene of the crime was designated at a small building which sat, nestled in between trees and overlooking a humble pond. They were a long drive out nearing Rouge Park, a beautiful area, slowly changed over the centuries to become a nature reserve in its own right. Tall trees stood testament to the effort in preservation that had transpired over the years. 

  


However, within the walls of the little school house, there would be a scene of death that was enough to turn those watching trees into suspicious witnesses, trembling in the dark whispers of the wind.    
  
The tainted building was a ground floor, through and through. Records showed no hidden basement or plans on extensions, It was just two large rooms sandwiching a small toilet area from what Connor had of accessible building information. 

  


It had a black sign which had scrawny, hand written text which was bordered with the signatures of many small, paint-dipped hand prints.

  


It read “Miss Ross’ Breakfast Club”.

  


The two men and woman stepped out of their cars, Persons and Reed having carpooled there together.

  


Gavin had a sulky look in his dust brown eyes and pulled his coat shut against the chill when Connor glanced at the fiery man curiously.

Persons paused to assess the old school house, shoulders set back in a way signifying her experience as an investigator.

  


Connor had respect for both of them as skilled individuals on the team.

  


They looked about themselves, scanning as Connor did but with less efficiency.

  


They were greeted by the first responders and Connor listened to the low down of how the scenes inside came to light.   
  
A first responder, a young man with hair greased back, eyes dark and wary came toward the detectives with a careful step. His uniform was neatly pressed and he seemed to know who they were already, or he trusted that he did. 

  


“We have four victims, two children, one teacher, one parent. They were discovered around eight in the morning.”

  


Gavin looked at his watch and huffed, “fuck and we were only just called now?”

  


“Because they were discovered by a young boy who was dropped off. The poor kid had to run two miles up the dirt road to find someone. He is lucky… his mom is lucky.”   
  
“How far has this place been cordoned off?” Gavin asked.    
  
“Yeh, right down to Beechers, and across the thirty-two. We have dogs out there now, in case the sick fucker’s still here.”    
  
“Whose entered the scene?” Connor asked.   
  
“The kid, and two of our guys secured it. We’ve done an exterior survey, but one of you guys might catch something we’ve missed.”    
  
Gavin nodded and walked off around the building, it wasn’t long before he was back and they’d had all details presently available. 

  


“Nothing out of the blue,” The man said, undoing his overcoat collar. “-This is the only entrance from the front, there is a back entrance but no one has used it, there’s a massive pile of leaves and shit against the door. Other then that, they could have come or gone from anywhere.”   
  
“I'll take a secondary witness statement,” Persons said to Connor and Gavin “-This is going to be a massive pain in the ass.”   
  


“I'll assess the scene then,” Connor said walking up the worn steps to enter the small building.

  
“I guess I'll stick my finger up my ass,” Gavin said, Persons raised a warily-amused brow.

“Or you could go help Connor?”

  


The club house front led into a small conservatory where a shoe rack and coat hangers stood solemnly against the wall. One pair of size four, kid’s shoes were in the shadow of two small coats. Connor expected that at least one of the children had been here long enough to take their shoes off and both children had removed their coats, meaning the one parent was talking to the teacher at the time of the attack...

  


There were three doors. Left into the kitchen area and right into the main playroom, or straight ahead into a two stall bathroom, neat and tidy with bright pictures advocating good hygiene standards.

  


Connor decided to go right but had to pause as he came straight away to be in front of the first victim he would see that morning. A woman in her late thirties.

  


The scene was… unpleasant. Her body bent around the corner of the room as if she had been grabbed and yanked… so she had attempted to escape. Connor crept around her warily and crouched to look at her nails. Gavin came in then and swore.    
  


Connor looked at him and he held up a camera and made a face, his scar warping around his cheeks. Connor looked back down at the first victim.   
  
“She came into contact with the assailant, her nails are chipped and there is nothing underneath them… that means....”   
  
“It’s a fucking android.”    
  
“It would seem so,” Connor said regrettably. He looked over the body once more, there were deep, purple bruises on her left wrist, certainly crushed with immense force. This was a desperate and brutal killer. The reason for death? A broken neck.   
  
He stood and looked about the rest of the room, the one child was splayed over play mats, a jagged cut opening a new mouth into the little boy’s neck. He was a sandy haired boy, Drew Curtis. On closer inspection there was grazing on the skin on his fingers…. Another struggle. He tested the firmness of the child’s pink little-appendages and found little give. The android approximated that It was almost two hours after death.   
  
Rigor mortis seemed to affect children slower than the adults, due to less muscle mass. So they had been dead not long before the child witness entered, it was imperative that they get that kid down to the station. He sent a message silently to Persons.   
That kid is very lucky, incredibly so, the killer might have been in the building at the time he arrived.    
  
The other child victim was not far away from the other, must have run in a desperate chance to escape, but ended up dead with the same wounds as the other. On inspection, the child also had visible bruises where they had been grabbed. What led this android to kill children?   
  
“I think there were multiple attackers,” Connor said, standing and looking about the room with a hand resting on his chin, the other supporting his arm to do so. 

  
Gavin turned from where he took photos and squinted at the android, “what makes you say that?”

  
“All of these victims have bruising on the arms and defensive wounds, chipped nails and grazed finger tips and knuckles. These two children seem to have died primarily from  hemorrhagic shock due to cut throat injuries caused by a sharp edged weapon. The mother over there, a broken neck.”    
  
Connor let area-mapping sensors run as he explained his theory to Gavin, already, clues, blood and markers were raising as he felt his systems purr within his heart, processing the wavelengths and disturbances in the air.    
  
“How could each victim have sustained such heavy defensive injuries and have been killed within equal timing of each other? And why would the attacker drop the weapon and decide to murder the mother by breaking her neck?”   
  
“So there was two of them?”    
  
Connor looked once more between the two children, then toward the final victim. Her knees were bruised badly, arms red, bruises at both wrists. A teacher of thirty years, a meaty looking woman in her later sixties.   
  
“Three. One person held the teacher, one person held both children, one wrist in each hand… and there was another…   
  
I suspect there must have been some form of dialogue going on?”

  
Gavin nodded, lowering the camera and joining his rival in the centre of the room, spinning slowly on the spot and humming in thought.    
  
“They were holding each person hostage? Or trying to get something, but what can you get at a daycare for kids?”   
  
“Kids?” Connor emphasised.    
  
“That’s fucked, but why would an android want a human child?”   
  
“Are all the children that come here human children?” Connor said and they both looked worriedly at each other.    
  
“Are all children accounted for?” Gavin said and strode out to find the first responder. 

  


Connor looked about himself thoughtfully. He found blood spray traces which just confirmed his suspicions  on the first child's escape attempt.

But how did the child manage to loose himself from an android attacker?

  


And what was the try motive of coming here. The RK800 looked about but found nothing seemingly out of place or missing.

  


Gavin entered, “they're calling every parent on the registry. So far no one is missing.”

  


“I cannot fathom the motive,” Connor said frustratedly.

  


Gavin snorted bitterly, “well we've only been here just under an hour, Snowflake. Before your lot came about everything took days… weeks. Guess… guess that's why everyone wants you around.”

  


“there goes me thinking it was my charm and good looks,” Connor joked humorlessly. He sighed, “We should get someone in the pond, it's a good place to dispose of a murder weapon.”

  


Gavin was placing markers and taking photos, he gave an unhelpful, “yeh.” Leaving Connor to pout at his back before leaving and standing outside.

He went around the back of the school house.

  


It was another point to find the place of entry. Three android men. They could have entered easily from the unlocked doors and there were no fresh footprints that were unaccounted for, prints to be found in the dirt of the parameter… that was confirmed as Connor scanned the dirt. Nothing but three trails from Gavin and the two first responders.

  


So they must have come by car, which means they came with purpose.

And if they came by car, there wouldn't be any tracks to pull on the gravel road…

  


But what it did mean was it could be an android who had a license and driving protocols… that would narrow it down. 

  


Connor began running a database search for such androids that existed within Detroit. Unfortunately, the list was large and extensive but Detroit was the capital of androids, it was to be expected he thought.

  


Connor turned when he heard dogs barking. At the front of the house which was slowly becoming infested with uniformed men, he found the returning search team, accompanied by two allsations. 

  


Connor instantly knelt to pet the smaller, wriggly dog.

“Did you find anything?” he asked the dog. It panted with glaring white teeth and a wagging tail.

  


“Not this one,” the man holding his leash grumbled, looking down on the crouching Connor with disapproval. “Hundreds of dollars and months into this dog, they'll get rid of it.”

  


“ That's why we brought Casper,” the other Canine officer said, patting his dog who watched them all intently. “Never a paw wrong.”

  


“Get rid?” Connor asked the aforementioned worriedly, “I'm sure he will improve.”

The officer shrugged and Connor found Gavin, they left together in Hank's old Buick Lesabre. It growled in countering puffs, grit flicking into its underbelly as they took down the dirt road.

  


The lack of evidence and lead so far was unsettling Connor. Cases where androids held the baton of suspicion we're the worst and most extensive. Humans had and left traces everywhere they breathed. He tapped the wheel nervously.

  


Gavin was cross armed next to him and bared the repetitive tapping before he dug his elbow into Connor who gave him a surprised and dirty look.

  


“You’re pissing me off with the constant tapping,” the human growled, glowering at the road ahead, looking only a little guilty for his over-reaction.

  


“Sorry,” said Connor, “It's just this case is stirring some upset within me.”

  


“Oh give me a break,” Gavin said, leaning up the window like he might want to fall out, “You'll have solved it and forgot about it by next week.” 

  


“Ludicrous,” Connor said, scrunching his face, nose creasing lines in his artificial skin, “unless something happened to my memory banks then forgetting things are out of the question.”

  


“It was an expression, dip shit,” Gavin said, “I should have got a taxi.”

  


Connor rolled his eyes, “I can put some music on.”

  


“Hell no, not if you still listen to that screaming trash.”

  


“I forgot you liked classical music,” Connor said and feinted leaning  forward to the radio.

  


Gavin smacked his hand away.

  


“No, just normal music!”

  


And they argued all the way back to the station.

  


When they got there, Persons was sitting by her desk, typing away at her computer. Connor and Gavin circled around him and leaned against the surfaces tiredly.

  


“You better have something good from the brat, I sat in the foulest smelling car for over an hour. The stench of alcohol is long stained into that worn, fucking leather.”

  


“Absolutely not true,” Connor argued, “alcohol has not touched the insides of that car for centuries.”

  


Gavin laughed loudly, Persons rubbed a temple.

  


“Connor,” Persons said softly, “-please, please don't be reeled in. Gavin is just fucking with you.”

  


Connor glowered, “as usual the mission is being obstructed by in professional behaviour. What did you learn from the witness?”

  


“His mother dropped him off and didn't wait a second to see him go in. She came in shame faced earlier, as red as a tomato. She's lucky… but everyone is saying that. The kid saw the first body and ran straight away, he said he saw nothing else and didn't even fully enter the building. He ran two miles up the road until he met a dog walker, that's who called us. They saw nothing either.”

  


“Is that it?” Connor said nervously.

  


“Pretty much, yes. I've uploaded everything into the database including transcripts. I asked him if he'd seen anything suspicious and he didn't…. Other then the bodies of course.”

  


“anything suspicious, did you ask him if he'd seen anything at all?” Gavin asked busily, looking through some of the statement on the computer.

Persons looked affronted, cracking her teeth together.

  


“The statement is insufficient to the case,” Connor said, did the child really not see anything?

  


Persons stood, “I was with the child mediator, I asked everything I could without upsetting the poor lad, who was traumatized. What did you boys bring home if my evidence collection is so insufficient?”

  


“That's the problem,” Connor said, tension strung deeply in his chest, “There were no prints, no traces, no murder weapon, no leads.”

  


They stared between each other, chests heaving rythmatical, though one was simulated, they all shared the same dread.

  


They had no leads.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm.
> 
> Comment are quite welcome. 
> 
> Especially if spotting a mistake. I re-read chapter one and realised the mistakes are pretty bad. Perks of writing on a phone?
> 
> Speaking of phones... The formatting keeps changing so I hope it's not too weird for everyone.
> 
> Beta reader would probably be a good person I need right now.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be posting the next chapter soon.  
> Your feedback is very welcome and will help me write.


End file.
